


What Could Go Wrong?

by Dawn Cunningham (Delta_Dawn)



Series: Highlander stories with Tessa [12]
Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 22:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7193639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delta_Dawn/pseuds/Dawn%20Cunningham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Duncan has to do is go look at a sword to see if he wants to buy it. He invites Richie along because what could possibly go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Could Go Wrong?

What Could Go Wrong? by Dawn Cunningham

Standard disclaimers apply. Duncan, Tessa and Richie belong to Rysher and all other characters are a figment of my over-active imagination.

This story takes place during the first season.

***************************** 

Duncan MacLeod looked up when the bell over the door of the antique shop sounded. He immediately recognized the blonde-haired woman and wondered if he could duck out of sight before she saw him.

Randi McFarland rushed across the antique store, straight for him. "MacLeod, we have to talk," she stated enthusiastically.

"Now what?"

"Not here. In your office." Without waiting for a reply she headed for the door leading there.

With a sigh, Duncan followed. It was a good thing Tessa was out of town, attending a special workshop on sculpturing with metal down in San Francisco. The two women usually ending up slinging verbal attacks at each other. "What do you need, Randi?" he asked as he sat down behind his desk.

"You owe me, MacLeod, for that fake broadcast I did to help you capture the Scalper. I want you to promise to give me an exclusive," the reporter burbled. "This is such a hot story and could really make my career."

"An exclusive on what?" Duncan asked, thoroughly bewildered.

"You know. The stolen nerve gas. I figured you and your secret organization--what was it called again?" She paused, waiting for a response.

"Listen, Randi, the secret organization is all in your head. I don't know anything about stolen nerve gas."

A disappointed look crossed her face. "I was sure you would know about it. I only found out because I have some contacts in the military, but they're claiming national security so we can't broadcast it. Apparently, the nerve gas was on its way to be destroyed when the convoy was held up by a group called the New Patriots. They took enough canisters to kill everyone in Seacouver, and they are insisting the state of Washington be recognized as a sovereign nation, otherwise, they'll release the gas. When I heard about it, I thought of you immediately. It sounds like something you'd get involved in."

"Well, I hate to disappoint you," Duncan replied. "But, I haven't heard anything about this." The phone rang and he picked it up. The caller was another antique dealer who claimed he'd found a Masamuni sword for sale. The Highlander had put the word out that he was looking for another one, since the last one he'd bought had been broken in a duel with Felicia Martins. He carefully wrote out the directions to get to the house of the seller. Somehow, he doubted the sword would be authentic since the address was out in the middle of nowhere. Still, he had to try.

"Have you got a lead?" Randi asked as soon as he hung up.

"Yes... on a Masamuni sword. I doubt if you'd be interested."

"C'mon, MacLeod. Give me a break here."

"I have to go. Good-bye, Randi." Duncan placed a hand on her back and firmly pushed her towards the front door. Following her through the antique store, he spotted his teenage assistant. "Hey, Richie. I'm going to go check out a sword I just heard about. It's too nice of a day to be inside--want to come along?"

"I don't know, Mac... Seems like whenever we take a drive somewhere, something bad happens." 

"C'mon, Richie. All we're going to do is go look at a sword and then come home. What could go wrong?"

"Can I drive?" Richie asked with a hopeful look.

Duncan's stomach churned at the thought of the teenager at the wheel of his beloved T-bird. Still, it was better than leaving him home alone. For some reason, Richie always managed to find trouble. "Yes, you can drive," he conceded. 

"Cool! But I have to be home by seven. I've got a hot date with Daphne."

"No problem, Richie. We'll be back in plenty of time for your date. Why don't you grab our coats while I lock up the shop," Duncan suggested. He turned to find Randi still standing by the front door.

"Is Richie a member of your secret organization, too?" she asked, wide-eyed. "He's just a kid!" "No, he's not. I have to go, Randi. Good-bye."

"So there is an organization! I knew it!"

Duncan groaned. "He's not a member because there isn't one. Good-bye, Randi!" He almost pushed her out the door and quickly slammed it shut, locking it with a grateful sigh.

******

Richie stared down the dirt road, devoid of any signs of life except for himself and Duncan MacLeod. "No problem, Richie," he sarcastically mimicked the Highlander's words from earlier that day. "We'll be back in plenty of time for your date. Well, I have a message for you." He glared at his companion. "Unless you can instantly transport me home, I'm going to be late!"

Duncan shrugged. "I'm sorry, Richie. I had no idea it would take so long to find the place. Besides, you can't exactly blame me for the car troubles."

"I can blame whoever I want! Daphne will probably never speak to me again if I stand her up--especially if I don't call her." Richie knew it wasn't the Immortal's fault, but he wanted to blame someone and Mac was the only one around. It didn't help that part of the blame belonged to him. The Immortal would never have taken this so-called shortcut if the teenager hadn't hounded him.

The directions had been a joke and they were forced to stop several times to get more information. When they finally arrived at the isolated home, the sword had turned out to be a cheap fake. By then, Richie knew they were going to be late, so he and Mac had studied a road map and decided they could save time taking this road back to Seacouver. Halfway home, the T-bird's engine had begun to stutter and backfire. 

Duncan had pulled off to the side of the road, although Richie wondered why he bothered. They hadn't seen any other cars and there had been very few houses along the road. Together, they tinkered with the engine, trying to figure out what was causing the problem. After an hour, the Immortal had admitted defeat. Knowing it was at least ten miles back to the last house they had seen, they decided to head in the other direction. 

Right now, Richie would give anything to see that nosy reporter show up. She'd followed them from the antique store but, somewhere along their torturous path, they'd lost her. Mac had told him about the stolen nerve gas and Randi's insistence about his involvement. 

The teenager gave a slight shudder at the thought of poison gas being released on Seacouver. Mac would survive, after all, he was immortal. But the rest of the inhabitants would die, including one very mortal Richie Ryan. Maybe Mac would send him down to stay with Tessa, but the teenager wouldn't ask. It would seem too cowardly if he made the suggestion. He could only wait and hope the Highlander would think of it. Of course, Richie would protest for a while, but he would give in without too much persuasion.

The teenager wished Mac *was* looking for the nerve gas. He didn't trust the police or the Feds to not screw up. The Highlander, on the other hand, always seemed to get his man.

"Look, Richie," Duncan said, pointing towards a dust cloud ahead of them. "Here comes someone now. It shouldn't take too long to get to a phone and you can call Daphne and explain why you're late."

Richie cheered up at the thought. Hopefully, Daphne would be understanding and willing to reschedule their date. He stood impatiently by Mac's side, fidgeting from one foot to another, as the vehicle drew closer. It kind of looked like an Army truck, the back end covered in canvas. The Immortal waved his arms once it came close enough for them to be seen. A moment later, the truck skidded to a stop and four men jumped from the back, each carrying an automatic weapon.

"Whoa! Chill!" Richie said as he put his hands up in the air. He looked over at Mac and saw him raise his hands in surrender, too. One of the men waved them towards the back of the truck and then ordered them to climb in. The teenager kept waiting for the Highlander to swing into action, but all he did was push Richie up into the truck.

The other men climbed in after them and two of them approached Richie and Mac. The teenager was spun around and his arms were roughly pulled behind him. He felt the roughness of rope being wrapped around his wrists and pulled taut. Not satisfied with binding his wrists, the man proceeded to wrap the rope around Richie's upper body, trapping his arms at his side. The teenager was then pushed down onto a bench that ran the length of the truck. He could see the Highlander had been tied up in the same fashion and seated on the opposite side. 

It didn't take too many brains to figure out the look the Highlander was throwing at him. Keep your mouth under control and don't do anything stupid. Richie nodded slightly to indicate he understood. Mac seemed to give a small sigh, probably in relief. It was the last thing he saw as a blindfold was wrapped around his head and tied tightly in place.

The truck started up again with a jolt, and Richie struggled to maintain his balance as it turned and headed back the way it had come. They hadn't gone very far before the truck turned again, this time onto a very bumpy road. It took all his concentration to remain on the bench as the truck lurched from side to side.

As the truck jerked to a halt, finally, Richie listened intently. He could hear the other men in the truck start moving around and, a moment later, he felt a hand on his arm, urging him to stand up and move in the direction of the tailgate. With a hard push, the teenager was sent sprawling into the dirt, landing hard and driving the air out of his lungs. There must have been more men around, because he could hear their laughter at his predicament. Anger and embarrassment vied with each other for top position in his mind.

Hands grabbed at his arms and he was yanked to his feet before being dragged away from the truck. "Mac?" he called out in panic, not wanting to be separated from his friend.

"Richie? Are you all right?" Mac's voice seemed a long ways away.

Before the teenager could answer, something hard--a fist probably--punched into his stomach, sending him to his knees, gasping in pain. When the hands jerked him up again, he struggled madly. Two more strong blows drove the air and the fight out of his body. He hung limply in the other men's grips and felt himself being dragged along, but didn't have enough energy to do anything about it. 

Once again, he was sent sprawling in the dirt and he lay there quietly, trying to get his breathing back to normal. Finally, after hearing nothing for a long while, he decided they must have left him alone. Scraping his head along the ground, he struggled to remove the blindfold, but it had been tied too tightly. With great effort he managed to sit up. Feeling something behind him, he leaned back against it, trying to get as comfortable as possible. For now, all he could do was wait.

*****

Duncan didn't resist as hands pulled him to a standing position and he was guided to the back end of the truck. Tied and blindfolded, he was no match for four armed men. Although, from the noises outside, there were definitely more than four. When the hands shoved him off the truck bed, the Immortal barely managed to land on his feet. From the low grumbles around him, he could tell they would have preferred to have sent him sprawling.

The hands jerked at his arms and he let them lead him away. From a distance, he heard Richie call his name. "Richie?" he called back. "Are you all right?" 

There was no reply. With a sinking feeling, Duncan wondered what they had done to the teenager. Not for the first time today, he wished he'd never offered to bring Richie along. He never would have taken this shortcut. And even if he had, he would have fought off the men if he'd been by himself. Even if they had shot him, he would have survived. But, he couldn't risk Richie's mortal life that way.

He couldn't help but wonder if they had somehow managed to stumble into the hiding place of the people who'd stolen the nerve gas. Who else would be hiding out in the middle of nowhere, heavily armed? If that was the case, Duncan knew he would have to try to stop them. It was a matter of honor. He also knew the price to pay might be too high if he did try. This might cost Richie his life but, compared to the entire population of Seacouver, he had to chance it. After all, the teenager would wake up again. So, why did he feel like he was betraying the youth? 

Duncan was finally jerked to a stop and the blindfold was removed from his face. He found himself looking at a brown-haired man, about the same height and build as himself. "Who are you? Why have you brought us here? And where is my friend?" Duncan asked aggressively.

"I'll ask the questions here," the man replied, moving over to lean against a table behind him. "What's your name? And what were you doing on that road?"

"My name is Duncan MacLeod. I'm an antique dealer from Seacouver. My friend is Richie Ryan and he works for me. We were following up a lead on an antique sword and decided to take that road back to Seacouver to save time. My car decided to quit running and we were looking for someone with a phone so I could call a tow truck."

"I don't believe you," the man snarled. "You don't look like an antique dealer. I can recognize a military man when I see one."

"I've done a stint in the service," Duncan said, not adding it had been over a century since he'd fought in a war. "But, now I'm an antique dealer. I have a card in my wallet, if you'd like to see that."

The man nodded at someone behind Duncan and the other man moved up to search him for his wallet. Extracting it from the Immortal's back pocket, the second man handed it to the first.

The Scot's interrogator flipped open the wallet and searched through it. He paid close attention to the driver's license before finally pulling out one of Duncan's calling cards. He examined it carefully, before ripping it up. "Very clever. They are getting better at coming up with cover stories, but you can't fool me. I should send your head back to your dictator bosses in Washington."

Duncan swallowed hard at the thought. Hopefully, it was just a figure of speech and the man had no intentions of cutting off his head. Without another Immortal around, all that he was would be lost forever. It was the worst possible way he could think of to die permanently--at the hands of a mortal. 

"I don't have any bosses in Washington. I'm an antique dealer. That's all. I don't have any idea what's going on up here and I don't want to know," Duncan said, hoping the man would listen.

With a quick move, the man pulled his gun out of a side holster and aimed it directly at Duncan. The Immortal refused to flinch, staring back defiantly.

"Tell me the truth or I will kill you," the man said.

Duncan shrugged. "I already have told you the truth," he said. "Killing me won't change that." In fact, it might be better if he was killed. Then he could come back, get Richie, and find some way to stop them.

"I was right. You are more than an antique dealer, otherwise you would have been begging me for your life. Bring the other one here," he ordered one of his men as he lowered the gun and moved back to rest against the table once more.

Duncan wanted to yell at him to leave Richie out of this, but he didn't want this man to realize the teenager could be used as a pawn. He stood there, not moving in the slightest, staring at his interrogator. 

*****

Every so often, Richie would struggle with the ropes around his wrists, feeling them bite into his flesh, but not loosening at all. Suddenly, someone burst into his tent. Hands gripped his arms tightly and he was lifted to his feet. They pulled him out of the tent.

"Where are you taking me?" he asked, trying to hide his nervousness. "Where's my friend?" The men--at least he assumed they were men--continued to pull him along without responding. They finally stopped and the teenager was forced to his knees. "What's going on? What are you doing?" Richie asked, hating the quaver in his voice. 

"It's all right, Richie. Just take it easy." Duncan's voice came from nearby. 

Knowing the Immortal was close calmed the teenager down. Mac wouldn't let them hurt him. Without warning, the blindfold was removed. Richie blinked a few times as the rays from the setting sun hit his eyes. When he could focus, he found himself staring down the bore of a gun. He swallowed heavily and pulled himself up as straight as he could while still remaining on his knees.

The sound of the hammer being pulled back seemed to echo through the clearing. Richie remained steady, trying to hide the trembling in his legs. He wouldn't show his fear to this man--whoever he was. He had to make Mac proud of him.

"Now, for the last time, tell me who you are," the man ordered.

For a moment, Richie thought the man with the gun was talking to him. Then he realized it was the Immortal he was looking at. The teenager almost jumped when Mac started talking.

"I was looking for a group called the New Patriots," Mac said. "I figure my services could be of great value to them."

"And what kind of services would that be?"

"I'm an explosives expert," Mac claimed "In exchange for my expertise, all I'm asking for is a high position in their new government."

"What about him?" the man waved his gun at Richie.

"He's young, but I'm teaching him the trade. He's got a lot of potential. Neither of us have any family, so we can move around anywhere we want."

"Hmmmm." The man slowly lowered the gun. "How did you find us?"

Richie heaved a silent sigh of relief as the gun was lowered. He had no idea why Mac had lied, but he was really glad it hadn't gotten him killed.

"Sheer luck," Duncan replied. "We really did have car trouble. I had a general idea where to find you--assuming you *are* the New Patriots. I just didn't expect to arrive on foot."

"Yes, we are the New Patriots. I'm Jacob Murphy, President of New Washington. Soon, the rest of the world will know that, too."

Mac drew a little closer to Jacob. "So, the rumors are true? Your group is the one who ripped off that shipment?"

A suspicious looked entered Jacob's eyes. "How did you find out about that?"

"You know what the rumor mill is like. Anyone who strikes that kind of blow against those dictators who are in control of the country, is the kind of group I want to be associated with."

"I'll think about it. Take them back," Jacob ordered his men.

Two of the men lifted Richie back to his feet, before they escorted Mac and the teenager to a tent. They were pushed inside, but the men stayed outside. Two cots took up most of the room and Richie sank down on one of them.

"Oh, man, I thought I was dead out there!" he said with a frown. "And what was all that bullshit about wanting to join these weirdoes?" 

"Shhh. Keep it down, Richie. They may be listening in on us." Duncan sat down next to the youth. "I didn't know what else to tell them. They wouldn't believe I was an antique dealer. I figured this was the best way for us to stay alive," he said in a low tone--almost a whisper.

"Got it," Richie whispered back. "You're teaching me to be a mercenary. I can handle that. It beats the alternative." He gave a slight shudder.

"We have to get out of this and stop these guys. They're the ones who stole the nerve gas."

Richie's eyes grew wide. "Are you sure?"

Duncan nodded. "Turn around. I'm going to try to untie you."

Richie squirmed around until his back was up against the Highlander's. He felt Mac's fingers go to work immediately, testing and probing the knots. 

The Immortal finally admitted defeat. "I can't get the knots undone, Richie. I'm sorry."

"Let me try, Mac. My fingers are smaller. Maybe I can untie you." "Sure, give it a try, Richie." 

"Oh, boy. This is more difficult than it sounds," Richie muttered, as he struggled with the knots. "Wait, wait, I think I've got it," he said a little while later. "Just a few more minutes."

Mac pulled away and Richie watched as the ropes fell away from the Immortal's wrists. "Good job, Richie," the Scot said. It didn't take too much effort to shrug off the ropes still around his torso, once he had his hands free. He immediately turned to free Richie.

The teenager winced as the ropes fell away. He pulled his hands around in front and rubbed his wrists gently. Mac reached out and grabbed his hands, looking at the raw marks.

"Are you all right?" the Scot asked.

"I'll live," Richie replied, pulling his hands away. "They sting a little bit, but that's all. What do we do now?"

The Highlander quietly moved around the small tent, looking around very carefully. Several times, he stooped and inspected the bottom of the tent. Finally, he beckoned Richie over. "We'll go under here. Follow me out and try to be as quiet as possible."

Richie nodded, watching as the Immortal lowered himself to the ground before raising the canvas and peering out. He must have decided it was safe because he raised the canvas higher and crawled out. The teenager waited until the Immortal's feet had disappeared before dropping to his stomach and squirming under the canvas.

The teenager found the Immortal crouching behind the tent, surveying the area. He moved up to kneel beside him.

"We'll head for the motor pool over there," Mac said, pointing out the direction. "If we can steal one of those trucks, we'll stand a good chance of getting away."

"What about the nerve gas?" Richie asked, keeping his voice way down.

"We can contact the authorities and they can handle this. For now, I want to get you to safety."

Richie wanted to protest, but he recognized the stubborn look on the Immortal's face. He knew the Scot had this overwhelming urge to protect those he cared about. The teenager had never had anyone worry about him before and sometimes was amazed when he realized Mac cared about him.

"Let's go," Mac said.

Richie followed the Scot as they worked their way to the trucks parked a ways away. They moved from one tent to another, using them to keep out of sight. They were only halfway there when a shout came from the camp. The youth looked back and saw a man pointing at them.

"Run, Richie," Mac ordered, pulling him towards the nearby woods.

The sounds of gunfire erupted behind him, lending speed to Richie's feet. Almost to the trees, the youth felt something slam into his back, sending him sprawling forward. Without hesitation, he jumped to his feet and started running again, trying to ignore the pain radiating from his right shoulder. A few more strides and he was in the trees, still following the Highlander's zigzag pattern.

Richie tried to concentrate on placing his feet carefully, not wanting to trip over the dead branches and stones in their path. The last feeble rays of sunshine didn't reach into the woods and the darkness made the going treacherous. Each step sent a wave of pain through his shoulder, but he couldn't stop. Even though the gunshots had stopped, he knew they were being followed. He was beginning to think the Highlander intended to run all the way back to Seacouver, when Mac pulled up and stopped.

The teenager sank to his knees, gasping for breath. He tried to bring up his right hand to wipe away the sweat dripping down his face, but a stab of pain caused him to change his mind. Instead, he used his left hand. "What now, Mac?" he gasped out.

"We can't keep up this pace," the Immortal replied. He kept turning in each direction, pausing to listen. "I hear a creek," he said. "We can use that to cover our tracks. C'mon, Richie."

Stifling a groan, Richie climbed to his feet. He found if he kept his right arm tucked up close to his body, the pain wasn't as intense. While the pace was still quick, it wasn't a full-out run anymore. It gave him a chance to catch his breath and still the trembling in his legs. Soon, they found the stream and waded into it. The water was icy, but only came up to their knees.

"Richie, head downstream. I'm going to leave a false trail so it looks like we crossed here," Mac said.

The youth turned and started in the direction Mac had ordered. It was much slower going in the water and Richie could feel the muscles in his legs beginning to ache. He'd gone quite a ways before he heard splashing coming from behind him and looked back to see the Immortal coming. It wasn't fair. The man looked like he'd been out for a Sunday stroll--not a mad dash through the woods with fanatical gunmen chasing him.

Mac caught up with him and placed a hand on Richie's left shoulder. "Richie, what happened?" He pulled the youth to a stop.

"Huh?" Richie asked, totally confused.

"You're bleeding," Mac replied, pointing to his right shoulder. The Immortal carefully pulled Richie's coat down off his shoulder to investigate.

Richie hissed in pain. "Take it easy, Mac," he groaned, trying to peer over his shoulder to see what was happening.

"Hold still!" Mac ordered. He moved around to stand in front of the teenager. "You've been shot," he informed Richie. "It looks like the bullet is still inside." He looked around the area while he peeled off his coat, shirt and finally his T-shirt. "Come over here," he said, pointing to a large rock perched on the edge of the stream. "Take off your jacket and shirt."

"We don't have time for this, Mac! Those guys could catch up to us at any minute," Richie protested, started to head downstream again.

The Immortal grabbed his arm. "No, Richie, we're far enough ahead right now. I need to see how badly you're injured. Now, take off your shirt and jacket," he ordered again.

Richie struggled to obey. Every time he moved his arm, it felt like his shoulder had a stake driven through it. He watched as Mac tore up his own T-shirt, before dipping one section in the stream. The Immortal returned to Richie's side, dabbing at the wound with the dampened material. The teenager gritted his teeth, not wanting to show any weakness. Once the wound had been cleaned, Mac pressed a pad formed from part of his T-shirt to Richie's shoulder and secured it in place with strips, also from the same T-shirt. Finally, he helped the teenager put his shirt and jacket back on.

"We have to get you to a hospital," Mac said with a frown. "It looks like you've lost a lot of blood, but at least the bleeding has stopped."

"No, Mac. We have to stop these guys. I'll be fine," Richie replied. "We can't let them use that nerve gas. You can leave me here and go on by yourself. You can get help much faster without me slowing you down. I'll hide up in the trees."

"I can't leave you here," Mac protested. 

"You said it yourself. The bleeding has stopped. I'll be all right for a while on my own. No problem. You're much better at this nature thing than I am, so you'll be back in no time at all." 

"I don't like it, Richie, but I can't think of any other alternatives. Let me look around and see if there's a good place for you to hide." Without another word, Mac took off up the bank of the stream. He returned very shortly. "I found a cave nearby. It's pretty small, but you should be safe there. I'll put some bushes over the entrance to cover it and no one should be able to find you--especially since the sun has set now."

"Just as long as you can find me when you get back, Mac," Richie replied with a wry grin.

"I'm sure I'll be able to. C'mon, let's go before those guys catch up with us."

Richie rose to his feet, only to start swaying. "Whoa..."

Mac's arm came around the youth's waist. "Take it easy, Richie. It's the blood loss."

With Mac supporting him somewhat, they climbed up the bank, taking great care not to leave any trace of their path. It was only a short walk to the cave entrance.

"No inhabitants," Mac informed the youth. "You should be safe in there. Just try to stay quiet and not move around too much. Otherwise, the bleeding might start up again." He clasped the youth's uninjured shoulder tightly. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"I know. Now will you just go," Richie said, tersely. Suddenly, his plan didn't seem like a very good idea after all. It was almost pitch dark in the cave and he could only sit there and watch as the Highlander dragged several downed limbs over to block the entrance to the cave. There was still room for the youth to climb out if he needed to but, hopefully, no one would be able to spot the cave now.

"Take it easy, Richie. I'll be back," Mac said before turning away.

Richie listened to the retreating footsteps, fighting off the tears that burned in his eyes. He couldn't ever remember feeling this alone before--not even when he'd been living on the streets. He didn't know why he felt like he'd been abandoned. It had been his idea, after all. He squirmed around, trying to get comfortable. It was time to wait, again.

****

Duncan moved quietly through the woods, back toward the New Patriots' camp. He didn't like leaving Richie behind, but it did free up his options. By now, half the camp was probably searching the woods for them. Hopefully, he would be able to sneak back in and, either find a radio to use or, go back to his original plan of stealing a truck.

The Immortal applied all the knowledge he'd learned while living with the Lakota Sioux tribe. The ability to move silently, leaving almost no trace of his path, had been a necessary survival skill back then. Hearing a loud, crashing sound ahead of him, he ducked into cover. A moment later, a lone hunter came into view. Without thinking twice, Duncan slipped out behind the man and grabbed him in a choke hold. Once the man slipped into unconsciousness, the Scot relieved him of his gun and dragged the man into the bushes.

Now armed, he continued on his way. Several times he had to hide while search parties went by. While he might be willing to take on one or two men, he wouldn't risk being caught by larger groups. Eventually, the lights of the camp showed, filtering through the trees.

He took his time, moving around the edge of the camp, scouting it carefully. A part of his mind kept urging him to hurry, that Richie needed medical attention--but haste could get him into more trouble. 

One tent had two men on guard. That either had to be Murphy's tent, the communications tent, or else the nerve gas was stored there. Any one of the options would be useful. But first, he had to eliminate the guards without alarming the rest of the camp.

Picking up several pebbles, Duncan pitched one away from the tent. One of the guards heard the noise, and decided to check it out. The Immortal was waiting for him. A karate chop to the throat took care of that one before he had a chance to cry out. The Scot checked the man's pulse only to find there was none. A moment of guilt filled him. He really didn't like killing mortals--no matter what crime they'd committed. It took the reminder of what the nerve gas could do, to get him moving again.

The second guard must have decided something was wrong, because he started around the tent, gun at the ready. Duncan quickly moved around the tent ahead of him, until he'd actually caught up with him from behind. He took this one down in a choke hold. He slipped back around to the front of tent and cautiously opened the flap. No one was inside so he went back and dragged both men's bodies inside. He removed the belt from the one still alive and used it to bind the man's hands. 

Looking around, he discovered he'd hit pay dirt. The tent held ten canisters, all marked with bio-hazard symbols. The nerve gas. He searched the men's bodies and found a hunting knife. Using it, he cut a slit in the back of the tent. Working as fast as possible, he transferred the canisters into the trees. Once all ten of them had been removed from the tent, he went in search of a good hiding place. 

Duncan couldn't shake the nagging feeling that he was running out of time. He desperately wanted to get back to Richie, but he knew he couldn't. It took some searching to find a place to stash the canisters. Several downed trees formed a natural hiding place and he started transferring the nerve gas there. Once all the canisters had been secreted, he moved some more deadfall to cover them up.

His final step was to erase his tracks back to the camp. He brushed the ground with a small branch filled with leaves he'd pulled off a tree. Several times, he stopped to scoop leaves out onto the path for further camouflage. Satisfied he'd done all he could do to keep the nerve gas out of these men's hands, he turned his mind to getting help.

Duncan knew the ideal solution would be to find a radio or a phone to contact the authorities. Once assured they were on their way, he could return to Richie. He carefully scanned the camp again, trying to spot some sign of a radio antenna. 

Nothing.

He didn't want to waste time by searching each and every tent. Besides, the risk of being caught was too high. Distant gunfire reached his ears and Duncan felt his heart sink, wondering if they had discovered Richie. Torn between returning to the teenager's hiding space and fetching help caused the Immortal to freeze in place. It wasn't an easy decision to make. If Richie had been shot, he wouldn't be able to do anything except be there when he returned to life for the first time as an Immortal. He had promised himself, when he took in the teenager, that he would be there for him when the time came.

However, if Richie hadn't been found, he could accidentally lead the men to him. These men weren't the best woodsmen--they could have fired at a deer or even a shadow. After much soul searching, he decided to stick to his original plan.

Duncan headed for the trucks parked off to one side of the camp. Just beyond them were two jeeps. He slid into one of them and proceeded to hot wire it. It was probably a good thing Richie wasn't here to see how easily the Immortal did it. No sense in encouraging bad habits.

The engine roared to life and a quick glance back at the camp showed several men emerging from one of the tents--including Jacob Murphy. Once again, gunfire erupted in the night. Duncan floored the gas pedal and went screeching out of the camp, headed for the main road, he hoped. Suddenly, the jeep started swerving madly and he realized one of the shots must have hit a tire. Knowing he wouldn't be able to control the jeep, the Immortal threw himself out of it, letting the jeep go crashing into a nearby tree.

Duncan hit the ground hard and rolled away from the jeep, covering his head with his arms. A moment later, the jeep exploded, sending hot metal shrapnel flying through the air. Once he felt it was safe, he was on his feet again, heading for the woods. At least there, they couldn't follow him with the other jeep. 

Now, his only hope to get help would be to head for the road and pray that someone would come along. But first, he had to ditch his pursuers. The years of daily runs held him in good stead as he quickly outdistanced them. Once he was far enough ahead, he doubled back, letting the chasers go right past his hiding place. 

Taking a moment to orient himself, Duncan headed for the road. Coming out of the woods, he was surprised to find himself near his disabled T-bird. A white van was parked behind it--a van he recognized. Jogging up to it, he found the side door open and peered around it. The two occupants were bent over a map and didn't notice him.

"He's got to be around here, somewhere," Randi said heatedly. "He wouldn't just abandon his car."

"Looking for me?" Duncan asked as he stepped out into view.

Randi jumped at the sudden intrusion before spinning around. "MacLeod! I knew you had to be around here somewhere. Have you found the guys who stole the nerve gas yet?"

"As a matter of fact, I have," Duncan informed her. For once, he was really glad to see her. "I need you to alert the authorities and get them out here." He took the map from her hands. "I think the camp should be around here," he said after studying it for a moment. "I don't know how many of them there are, but they are heavily armed. Some of them are still out in the woods looking for me and Richie. I've hidden the nerve gas where they shouldn't be able to find it. Once the authorities have these men in custody, I'll show them where it is." He turned to leave.

Randi jumped out of the van and ran after him. "MacLeod! What are you going to do? I want to come along."

Duncan stopped in his tracks, spinning around to face the reporter. "You are *not* coming along. In fact, the smartest thing you could do is to climb in that van and head back that way." The Scot pointed away from the direction he was headed. "These men will kill if necessary. You are the best chance we have to stop them."

"But why are you going back there?" Randi persisted.

"Because I left Richie back there, hiding in the woods. He's been shot and I need to get back to him. I will *not* risk his life by dragging you along. Do you understand?" Duncan glared at her as only a 400 year old Highlander could.

Randi gulped audibly. "Of course I do. We'll be back soon with reinforcements," she said over her shoulder as she ran for the news van.

Duncan waited until the van had started down the road before turning back to the woods. The only thing left for him to do now was to rescue Richie and get him to a hospital.

****

Richie lay in his small, dark cave, wondering how long Mac had been gone. At first, he had shivered constantly--his wet socks, shoes and pant legs hadn't helped. But, for some reason, he was starting to feel very warm. Maybe a heat wave had moved in. It was difficult to do, but he managed to remove his jacket in an attempt to cool off.

Every noise spooked him. He was a city boy and even after several trips to Mac's island, he still felt uncomfortable this far away from the streets he had once called home. Several times he heard footsteps approaching and prayed it would be the Immortal, come to tell him it was all over. When no voice called out, Richie would hold his breath, afraid to disclose his hiding place.

To add to his misery, his stomach started to remind him just how long it had been since he'd eaten. The grumbling noise was so loud, he was afraid it would lead the terrorists directly to him.

Doubts started to assail him as time passed. What if Mac didn't come back? What if he'd been captured? What if he couldn't find this little cave again? How long should he wait before he went for help on his own?

Throughout it all, he could hear the nearby stream. As the heat rose in his body and his mouth felt more and more like a desert, the sound became a torture. All he could think about was plunging into the cool depths. Letting the cold water bathe his throat, relieve the dryness of his mouth.

He couldn't take it any longer. He had to have a drink. There had been no sounds for the longest time. It would be safe for a quick trip to the stream. He'd come right back and hide again. Pushing aside the limbs blocking the cave entrance, he crawled out. He rose to his feet--a bit unsteadily--and headed for the stream.

As he came out into the clearing next to the water, he failed to see the four men on the far side of the stream. His only thoughts were getting into the cool stream. Loud shouts intruded into his daze and he looked up in horror. He spun around, prepared to dash back into the woods.

Gunfire burst out behind him. Spurts of dust kicked up on either side. Knowing he could never reach the trees in time, Richie stopped and slowly raised his hands. His right hand wouldn't go up very high, but it must have been enough as the gunfire stopped. Moments later, he was surrounded and his hands were roughly pulled behind him and tied. The teenager gritted his teeth, unwilling to give them the satisfaction of making any sound as pain flooded through him.

A gun muzzle poking in his back, sent him stumbling back towards the camp.

*****

Duncan stole through the woods, still needing to avoid search groups. These guys didn't seem to want to give up. He heard another group coming and ducked under cover. Suddenly, he felt the touch of a pre-Immortal and cursed under his breath. A moment later, four men came in sight, totally surrounding Richie. In the darkness, the Immortal couldn't tell if the teenager had been further injured. All he kept remembering was the early gunfire.

Waiting until the men had gone past his hiding place, Duncan finally made his move. In a flash, he was out on the path and had taken down one man before they even knew he was there. He knew he had to be quick--if they recovered enough to use their guns, the fight would be over. A high spinning kick took down the second man.

The other men recovered from their surprise and jumped on Duncan at the same time. They got in a few good blows--one to the Immortal's chin that set his head to spinning. Grimly, he fought on, knowing what failure on his part would mean. He managed to flip one of the men over his shoulder, sending him crashing into a nearby tree. One left to go.

A sudden burst of gunfire interrupted the fight. Duncan looked in the direction of the sound only to see two more men. One of them had a pistol to Richie's head and the Immortal gave up the fight. His hands were bound behind his back and three of the men escorted him and the teenager back to camp while the others stayed behind to help the injured men.

Jacob Murphy was pacing back and forth in the middle of the camp. When the prisoners were brought in front of him, he gave a snarl and viciously backhanded Duncan across the face.

"What did you do with it?" he asked as he swung again, sending the Immortal to his knees.

Duncan stood up and stared back defiantly. "It's where you'll never find it," he replied. He debated telling the man that reinforcements would be here soon, but had a feeling it would sign their death warrant. After all, if he were dead, he couldn't tell the authorities where the nerve gas was either. Of course, he didn't know Duncan would get back up.

Murphy turned to Richie, pulling back his arm to hit the teenager.

"Leave him alone!" Duncan said quickly. "He doesn't know anything," the Immortal added, stopping the man in mid-swing.

The leader of the New Patriots turned back to Duncan. "So, he doesn't know where you hid the nerve gas." He paused to think a minute. "I've seen men like you before. I could probably break you given enough time. But I wonder how long you will be able to hold out while your friend screams in pain."

Duncan realized he'd made a major error. He'd let his feelings for Richie become obvious. Soon he found himself tied securely to a tree. The teenager had been tied, spread-eagled, between two other trees, right in front of him. Several lanterns had been brought out, allowing the Immortal to see the tell-tale flush of fever reddening his cheeks. 

Richie had been quiet ever since Duncan's rescue and, at first, the Scot had assumed it was fear. Now, he realized there was more to it. The teenager needed medical attention and he needed it soon.

Murphy came to stand in front of Richie, looking him over intently. He walked around behind the teenager and poked at the bloodstain on the shirt. Duncan could see the obvious effort the youth put out to keep from making any noise. Murphy turned and walked away, leaving the two of them alone for a moment.

Richie looked directly at the Highlander. "Promise me!" he said in a low voice. "No matter what they do, no matter what I do, don't tell them where the nerve gas is! Promise!"

"Richie..." Duncan halted, unsure if he could keep that promise.

"You can't let them have it! Promise!"

"You know it's going to hurt, don't you?" Duncan asked.

"Yeah. And I'll probably scream so loud I'll burst your eardrums," Richie replied with a slight grin. "But, no matter what, don't give in to them!"

Duncan stared at the young man facing him. How had a street punk--someone who survived by robbing and stealing--managed to end up with such a sense of self-sacrifice? Was it because he didn't feel like his life was important enough to matter? Or did he have a streak of honor running through him to match the one the Highlander had? Either way, the Scot had to honor his request.

"I won't tell them, Richie. I promise you," Duncan assured him. "I just wish..."

"Yeah, me too. And, Mac, if I don't make it... well... you and Tessa were the best thing that ever happened to me."

"The feeling is mutual," Duncan replied. He looked over and saw Murphy returning. "Looks like it's time to get the show on the road."

Murphy stopped in front of the Highlander. "This is your last chance. Tell me where you hid the nerve gas!"

Duncan shook his head. He watched helplessly as two men cut Richie's shirt off. Murphy pulled something out of his pocket and held it up to the Immortal. With a start, he realized it was a salt shaker.

"You bastard!" Duncan growled, struggling futilely against the ropes.

Murphy grinned evilly, before passing the salt shaker over to one of the men who went to stand behind Richie. The man removed the top and poured some into his palm, then pressed his hand against the bullet wound.

Richie jerked wildly in his ropes and a scream erupted from his throat. It seemed to go on forever. Duncan wanted to look away, wanted to cover his ears, but he couldn't.

"I've actually heard of people who've dislocated shoulders struggling like that," Murphy said to Duncan. "It's extremely painful once they do. They end up inflicting their own pain as they struggle."

"You're going to pay for this," Duncan growled. "No matter how long it takes--I'll make sure you pay for this."

Murphy laughed. "I'm not too worried. Dead men can't harm me."

"Don't be too sure of that," Duncan said, throwing his most dangerous look at the man. 

Murphy tried to stare him down, but it was the leader of the camp that backed away. He looked back at Richie and signaled the man torturing the teenager to back away. "I'll give you and your friend a few minutes to decide whether we continue with the torture or not." He turned and walked away, taking the other two with him.

Richie slumped down in the ropes, apparently unable to support his weight on his legs. Tears ran down his face and his lungs struggled to take in air. Blood had started trickling down his arms from the injuries caused by the ropes holding him up. 

"Richie? Richie?" Duncan called out, struggling against his own ropes.

The teenager slowly lifted his head, looking the Highlander directly in the eyes. "Mac, it hurts," he mumbled.

"I know it does, Richie. I'm sorry..."

"Not your fault. Just remember your promise."

The men returned. Richie struggled as one of them approached him again. "NO! Not again!" he cried out. The man ignored him, pouring water on the teenager's shoulder before pressing more salt into the wound.

Four times the man pressed salt into Richie's wound. The teenager passed out during the third time and a bucket of water was brought over to revive him. The vacant stare in the teenager's eyes sent a cold shudder through the Highlander. 

On the fourth attempt, Richie barely shuddered. Low moans were coming from his mouth instead of the agonizing screams. Soon, even those stopped. Duncan couldn't decide if this was better or worse. He'd never felt more helpless. The man torturing Richie seemed upset at the lack of response and the Immortal could see him twisting his fingers inside the wound. No response.

For a second time, a bucket of water was thrown over the teenager. When that didn't revive Richie, Murphy stepped up and slapped him repeatedly. Still no response. The three men withdrew for a moment and quietly discussed what to do next. Duncan strained to hear, but they were too far away. Murphy approached Duncan. "Well, I guess I was wrong. The kid doesn't mean anything to you after all. Therefore, I'm going to put him out of his misery." He drew his gun and walked back to the teenager.

"NO!" Duncan yelled as he watched Murphy aim the gun at Richie's head.

Duncan closed his eyes--not wanting to see Richie murdered. It didn't matter that he knew the youth would revive. He just didn't want to live with that memory. When the gunshot rang out, he shuddered in his ropes. "I'm sorry, Richie," he murmured to himself.

"This is the FBI!" an amplified voice rang out. "You are surrounded! Put down your weapons and raise your hands!"

Duncan's eyes popped back open. Instead of Richie, it was Murphy who lay on the ground. Apparently, the reinforcements had arrived just in time. The Scot looked over towards the camp. Most of the men were giving up without a struggle. Some gunfire burst out, but it was too far away to worry about.

Another agent came trotting up to release Duncan. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"I'm fine," Duncan replied, already on the way over to Richie. "But my friend needs medical attention." He held up the teenager as the other man cut through the ropes. 

Richie's skin was ice cold and Duncan quickly felt for a pulse, feeling a wave of relief when he found one. He took off his coat and wrapped it around the youth.

"The medics will be here in a few minutes," the agent assured Duncan. "Are you MacLeod?"

Duncan nodded, keeping his eyes on Richie. He gathered the youth up in his arms to try to impart some of his own body warmth to the chilled figure. 

"We need you to show us where you hid the nerve gas canisters."

"I will, just as soon as Richie is on the way to the hospital. Where are those medics?"

"I'll go find out," the agent said. "Wait here."

Duncan shook his head in disgust. "Where would I go?" he said to himself. Turning back to Richie, he said, "Hang in there, Richie. Help will be here soon."

Just then, the medics came rushing up. Duncan turned Richie over to them, watching carefully as they treated him. In almost no time, an IV was started, his shoulder and wrists bandaged, and he was placed on a stretcher. Finally, he was carried over to a waiting helicopter to be transported to a hospital. The Highlander wanted to go with him, but he still had to show the FBI where the nerve gas was located.

*****

The sun was just coming up as Duncan arrived at the hospital. It had taken longer than he'd thought it would to find the gas. He'd hidden it too well, but now it was in the hands of the proper authorities and was no longer a threat.

One of the local FBI agents had volunteered to drive Duncan back to town. It had seemed to take forever, while the Highlander had worried about Richie's condition. Absently, he thanked the man, before striding into the hospital.

"I'm here to see Richie Ryan," he announced to the receptionist. "Can you tell me how he is?"

The woman typed something on the computer before looking up at the Scot. "He's in the recovery room now. If you take that elevator up to fourth floor, then turn right, you'll be at the surgical waiting room. You can ask the nurse there for more information."

"Thank you," Duncan replied, already turning in the indicated direction. At the surgical waiting room, he was told to take a seat and a doctor would be out to talk to him as soon as possible. 

The Immortal poured himself a cup of coffee from a nearby machine before taking a seat. He debated calling Tessa, but he didn't want to ruin her trip. Hopefully, Richie would be home long before she returned. She would be mad that he didn't call but, by then, it would be all over.

Thirty minutes went by, then an hour. Duncan returned to the nurse's station, but got no answers. He found he couldn't sit still, so he started pacing. Back and forth. Forth and back. What could have gone wrong? The wound hadn't been that serious. 

"Mr. MacLeod?" a female voice intruded into his thoughts. "I'm Dr. Roberts. I've been treating your friend Mr. Ryan."

"How is he, Doctor?" Duncan asked as he studied the woman in front of him. Late fifties, blonde hair pulled back in a bun, petite, and pretty. She exuded an air of confidence and knowledge.

"Please come with me," she replied, avoiding his question. She led him to a small, private room. "Please have a seat, Mr. MacLeod."

"Call me Duncan," he insisted. "What about Richie?"

Dr. Roberts looked down at her notes. "We've removed the bullet, flushed the wound thoroughly, and stitched him up. It shouldn't cause any long-term problems, although I would recommend a sling to keep him from using his arm for the next few weeks. He lost quite a bit of blood, but we gave him a transfusion and his blood pressure is much better. We've also started him on a heavy dose of antibiotics to combat infection. He has numerous abrasions and contusions--none of them serious. Physically, he's doing fine."

Duncan thought about what she had said for a moment. "He's doing fine physically, but mentally?"

"Have you ever heard of something called disassociation?" she asked, looking directly at him.

"No. What is it? And how serious is it?"

"Disassociation is a highly creative survival technique that the mind comes up with. Basically, Richie has withdrawn from reality."

"You mean he's in a coma?" Duncan asked, totally confused.

"No, he's not in a coma, but he's not responding to anything. As far as we know, he is probably aware of what is going on around him, but he can't or won't relate to it. It's most commonly seen in children raised in abusive environments." She paused and looked at him, questions written across her face.

"I don't know much about his childhood," Duncan admitted. "He never talks about it."

"Hmmm. Well, as I was saying, it's very common among abused children. They use it to escape from the horror. Over time, it can become instinctual. It also leads to multiple identity disorders. Does Richie have trouble handling conflicts or anything that would be perceived as causing anxiety?"

Duncan shook his head. "No, he usually resorts to fast talking in those situations. He keeps his cool, no matter what." Not even a sword-carrying Immortal threatening to chop his head off had given him much pause. 

"That's good. That means if he's ever disassociated before, it hasn't become habitual. I've only had sketchy details about what he went through tonight. Would he have considered himself in a hopeless situation?"

Duncan reviewed the night. "Probably. The men who captured us wanted me to reveal the location of some nerve gas. They tortured Richie to get me to talk. Before it started, Richie made me promise not to give in. He knew they might kill him. I guess it might have seemed hopeless."

"That explains it then. That's the most common cause of these types of withdrawals. Hopefully, he'll come out of it soon."

"And if he doesn't?" Duncan asked, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"Then you're only choices would be to commit him to a long-term care facility or hire a full-time nurse."

Duncan rested his head in his hands. What else could go wrong?

"It's still too early to worry about that," Dr. Roberts reassured him. "I'll take you in to see him. It may only take hearing your voice to bring him around." She rose to her feet.

Duncan followed her down the corridor and endured a silent ride in the elevator, down to the second floor. Another walk down the corridor until they reached a door which she pushed open.

"I'll let you talk to him alone," she said. "Just ring the call button if you need anything and I'll stop by a little later."

Duncan thanked her before entering the room. His eyes were immediately drawn to the sole bed in the room. Richie lay motionless, his face pale and wan, an IV running into one arm. Quietly, the Immortal crossed the room and sat down in the chair next to the bed.

Carefully, Duncan reached out and rested one of his hands on Richie's arm. "Hey, Richie. How're you doing? Sorry it took so long for me to get here, but you know what the Feds are like." No response came from the bed. "C'mon, Richie. It's time to wake up now."

The silence in the room was nerve-wracking. Duncan never would have thought he'd miss the ever-present chatter of the teenager but, right now, he would have paid a small fortune to hear it. 

The Immortal sat there for hours, occasionally talking to Richie, but he never got any response. Throughout the day, nurses stopped by, taking the teenager's vital signs. Dr. Roberts came in twice to examine Richie, but she could do nothing to alleviate Duncan's anxiety.

It was almost noon when Richie finally opened his eyes. Duncan thought it was the most terrifying thing that had ever occurred to him. At first, he had been overjoyed at the apparent response from the youth. It hadn't taken long to note the vacant stare and the unblinking eyes. The teenager had looked right through the Scot as if he weren't even there. 

"C'mon, Richie!" Duncan almost pleaded. "You're scaring me here. And that's not a nice thing to do to someone like me," he said in a half-joking tone. He waited anxiously for any sign that the youth had heard him.

Nothing.

Frantically, Duncan pressed the nurse's call button. A few minutes later, a nurse came into the room. She quickly moved to Richie's side and took his vital signs. 

"I'll page the doctor," she said, once she had completed her task. She left the room at a much brisker pace.

After an eternity, Dr. Roberts showed up. She looked over Richie's chart before performing her own examination. Flashing a penlight into the teenager's eyes, she called out his name several times. Finally, she turned to the Immortal.

"I know this must seem horrifying to you," she explained, "but, it's a very common aspect to disassociation. Often, the person appears to be in a trance--eyes wide open, but not responding."

"What do we do? How can I help him? Is he going to be like this for the rest of his life?" Questions seemed to pour out of Duncan's mouth.

Dr. Roberts shook her head. "There's no easy answer to any of those questions. All I can suggest is you keep talking to him. Try to draw him back to reality." She paused for a moment, appearing to be in deep thought. "Is there anyone else he might respond to? Someone he's close to, that wasn't involved in the situation that led to this?"

Duncan nodded. "But she's out of town. I haven't told her about what happened yet. I'd just hoped it would be all over before she even found out about it."

"Well, it's up to you, but it might make the difference to Richie."

Duncan nodded again. "I'll take care of it."

****

As much as Duncan wanted to stay by Richie's side, he knew it could take some time to track down Tessa. They had several friends in the San Francisco area who she could be visiting during the day or she might simply be out shopping. He returned to the antique store, going into the office to use the phone there. He left a message at her hotel, telling her to call home. He tried the organizer of the workshop she was attending, but was informed that classes were only held in the morning, so Tessa had already left.

One by one, he worked his way through the list of friends. Several had either already seen her or weren't planning on getting together with Tessa until later in the week. 

He finally gave up. Weariness pulled at him, trying to tell him to get some sleep, but he ignored it. Torn between not wanting to miss Tessa's phone call and wanting to be back at Richie's side, he didn't know what to do. For a brief moment, he rested his head on his forearms.

The shrilling ring of the telephone jerked him awake. Guiltily, he glanced at the clock. He'd been asleep for more than an hour. He grabbed the phone to answer it.

"Duncan, it's Tessa," came across the line.

The Highlander sighed as the soft French accent reached his ears. "Tessa, I need you," he replied.

"Really, Duncan," came the teasing reply, "I've only been gone a few days. Surely you can hold out for a week."

The Immortal shook his sleep-fogged head. "No, that's not what I mean," he tried to explain. "Richie needs you."

A sharp gasp crossed the line. "What's happened?"

Duncan poured everything out, hoping his ramblings were at least semi-coherent. They must have been because Tessa informed him she would catch the first flight home.

"Wait, Tessa. I've already arranged a charter flight for you." He gave her the phone number and name of the company. "Just call and let them know you're on your way. When you get here, take a cab to St. Joe's hospital. Richie is in room 212. I'll be there with him."

"I'll be there as soon as I can," Tessa promised, before hanging up.

****

Deciding a shower would help him stay awake, Duncan rushed through one, setting an all new record for brevity. Once again, he found himself striding through the hospital doors. He gave a groan when he saw the news crews waiting in the lobby. He was suddenly surrounded by bright lights and had several microphones shoved in his face. 

Randi seemed determined to get her story and started the questions. "Single-handedly, you managed to recover the stolen nerve gas," she started. "How does it feel to be a hero?"

Anger rushed through the Immortal. "I didn't do it alone. The real hero is laying upstairs in a hospital bed and I need to get back to him." Duncan started barging through the reporters, trying to get to the elevator. Only one of them was crass enough to get on it with him. "What do you want, Randi? You've got your story."

"Is Richie okay? I didn't think he was that badly injured."

Duncan sighed. "He was shot and I had to leave him behind to get help. When they recaptured us, they tortured him, Randi. He's... He's not doing too well." 

"I'm sorry, MacLeod. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Yes. Leave the hospital and take the rest of the vultures with you. I don't need this right now. If Richie wants to give an interview if... *when* he recovers, he can call you."

"Listen, MacLeod. I'm just trying to do my job!" Randi protested.

"Fine. Just do it somewhere else," Duncan insisted. He went into Richie's room, firmly shutting the door behind him. Fortunately, Randi didn't try to follow him. The Scot resumed his seat by the teenager's bed, lightly touching the youth's hand. "Hey, Richie. I'm back. I've called Tessa and she's on her way. If I were you, I'd wake up real soon. You don't want to upset her, do you?"

Duncan waited, hoping for some response. Richie's eyes were closed again, but nothing else had changed. The Immortal gave a deep sigh and settled in to wait.

****

Throughout the remainder of the afternoon, and well into the evening, Duncan continued to sit by Richie's side. Every so often, the teenager would open his eyes, but he never responded to Duncan's voice. One of the nurses brought the Immortal a dinner tray, which he only nibbled from. 

It had been a struggle to stay awake. Dr. Roberts had caught him napping once and tried to convince him to go home. The Scot had refused, his inbred stubbornness kept him where he was. There would be plenty of time to rest once Richie woke up.

The sound of the door opening brought his head around. With great relief, he saw Tessa standing in the doorway. Duncan stood up and the Frenchwoman practically flew into his arms. They embraced for several long moments, each drawing strength from the other.

Finally, Tessa pulled back and scrutinized Duncan's face. "You look so tired," she murmured, reaching up with one hand to stroke his cheek. "Have you managed to get any sleep at all?"

Duncan shook his head. "I didn't want to leave Richie," he explained.

Tessa looked towards the bed, before returning her gaze to the Immortal's face. "There's been no change?" she asked, deep concern showing in her eyes.

Duncan shook his head. "He opens his eyes now and then, but it's like he's in a world all by himself. I don't know how to reach him. The doctor thought you might be able to because you weren't involved."

"I don't know what to do, Duncan," Tessa said. "How am I supposed to reach him."

"I don't know either, Tessa. Just try talking to him. Maybe that will be enough."

Duncan held his breath and said a silent prayer as Tessa moved to Richie's bed and perched on the side of it. She gently stroked the teenager's hair back away from his face. "Richie? It's Tessa. Everything is all right. You can wake up, now. Please? For me?"

When no response came from the youth, Duncan let his breath out in a disappointed sigh.

Tessa threw the Immortal a disapproving glance. "Have a little patience, Duncan. I'm just getting started." She turned back to the teenager. She lightly pinched his cheek. "Enough already, Richie. You've had plenty of sleep and there's work to done. No more slacking off, now. Open your eyes and we can go home."

Still no response.

For the next hour, Tessa alternated between pleading and chiding. She stroked the teenager's cheeks, squeezed his hands, lightly rubbed his arms--hoping for some response. Once, she thought she'd finally gotten through when Richie had opened his eyes. She'd been deeply disappointed when she'd seen the vacant stare, but it made her even more determined and she redoubled her efforts.

Some time later, she glanced over and noticed Duncan had fallen asleep in his chair, his head lolling back in what looked like a very uncomfortable position. She went to his side and shook him awake.

"Duncan, why don't you go home and get some sleep. I'll stay here with Richie," she suggested. "When you're rested, you can come back and take over."

"But, Tessa..." Duncan started to protest.

"Shhh. If there's any change, I can call you. We don't know how long this will take, Duncan. We need to make sure we get plenty of rest and nutrition as well."

"I just feel like I'm deserting him."

Tessa kissed his cheek. "You're not deserting him. As long as one of us is here, you don't have to worry about that."

"You're right." Duncan pulled Tessa into a hug. "What did I ever do to deserve someone as wonderful as you?"

"Well, I guess you just got lucky," Tessa said, smiling to indicate she was teasing. "Now, go."

Once Duncan had left, Tessa found herself getting more emotional as she talked to Richie. Maybe she had felt the need to be strong for the Highlander and, now that he was gone, so was that need.

"I'm so sorry this happened to you, Richie," she said, fighting back tears. "You've had such a harsh life--it's time for some good to come into it. I can't even imagine how much it must have hurt when those men were torturing you. I don't blame you for withdrawing, but we need you to come back to us." She paused to swallow the lump in her throat.

"When Duncan first brought you home, I wasn't exactly thrilled about it. But we've been through so much together--like Felicia, or when Slade held us hostage in that courtroom. I don't know what I would have done without you during those long days when Duncan was missing because of that crazy doctor. And the night you were kidnapped by Reinhardt... I couldn't sleep at all."

Tessa shook her head. "When did you become family? You're too old to be my son, but in many ways you're a little brother to me. You can be aggravating and annoying and, sometimes, you talk too much. But you can be counted on to be there when we need you."

The Frenchwoman paced around the room for a while before returning to the teenager's side. "Please wake up, Richie. Come back to those who love you."

Nothing. 

Sighing, Tessa dropped into the nearby chair.

*****

Duncan slept for about four hours before the ringing phone woke him. He grabbed for the receiver, certain it would be Tessa--who would tell him Richie had come to. Instead, it was some company who tried to convince him that he needed to put permanent siding on his home.

Cutting off the man rather abruptly, Duncan flopped back on his pillows. Deciding he'd never get back to sleep, he finally got up. He took another shower, letting the hot water beat down on his tense shoulders for a long time.

Remembering the quality of food at the hospital, Duncan decided to make up something to take with him. Tessa would probably be hungry and appreciate something more tasty than anything served in the hospital cafeteria. 

The Highlander searched through the refrigerator, trying to see what was available. He pulled out some vegetable soup and put it on to heat. From the freezer, he retrieved some garlic breadsticks. Those he wrapped in foil and tossed in the oven. He then retrieved a small basket, packing bowls, spoons, and napkins. Already, the smells from the stove and oven were filling the air. It reminded him of how little he'd had to eat lately. He returned to the refrigerator and grabbed an apple to tide him over until he got to the hospital. At the last minute, he grabbed a couple more and put them in the basket, too.

Once the soup was heated, he poured it into a thermos and packed that in the basket. The breadsticks were pulled from the oven and placed on top of the rest. Duncan closed the basket and headed for the hospital.

The Scot quietly opened the door to Richie's room. Tessa was sitting in the chair by the bed, not talking right now, but holding the teenager's hand.

"Hi, Tessa. Any change?" Duncan asked quietly.

Tessa looked up, a startled expression on her face. "I didn't hear you come in," she said. "No, there's been no change."

Duncan sighed. "I've brought us something to eat," he told her. Without further words, he poured her a bowl of soup and passed it over. Unwrapping the breadsticks, he set them on the small stand by the bed, then he poured his own bowl.

Tessa sniffed appreciatively. "Thank you, Duncan. This was a good idea. I hadn't realized how hungry I was."

"Dig in, Tessa, before it gets cold," Duncan suggested. 

Silently, they started eating. Duncan had just reached for a breadstick when a voice intruded.

"Hey! I hope you're gonna share!"

Duncan and Tessa exchanged puzzled looks before looking at the still closed door leading into the room. Suddenly, they realized who'd just spoken.

"Richie!" they both said, simultaneously turning to look at the bed.

The teenager's blue eyes gazed back at them, a frown showing on his face.

"I'm starved! Can I have some of that? It smells really good. And where am I, by the way? Tessa? Why are you home? I thought you were going to be gone all week? Or have I lost a week? Well, will someone say something?"

Duncan recovered first, almost rushing to the teenager's side. Tessa wasn't far behind.

"Richie? How do you feel?" Duncan asked.

"I'm fine," Richie replied, starting to sit up. He gave a groan and flopped back down. "On second thought, maybe I'm not so fine."

"Take it easy," Tessa said, lightly stroking his hand. "Duncan, press the nurse's call button. They should be able to give him something for the pain."

Duncan complied. The nurse who came into the room told them she hadn't been given any authorization to give Richie medication, but went to contact a doctor who could.

"You really scared us this time, Richie," Tessa said. "I'm so glad you finally decided to come back to us."

"Huh? What did *I* do? And why am I here? This is a hospital, right?"

"Yes, this is a hospital. What's the last thing you remember?" Duncan asked, a frown crossing his face.

Richie screwed up his face in concentration. "Ummm. We went to look at a sword, right?"

Duncan nodded. "Anything else?"

"We had car trouble and... and... I missed my date with Daphne--didn't I?" The teenager glared at the Immortal. "Oh, man!" he added when Duncan nodded. "She'll probably never talk to me again."

"Sorry, Richie. Is that all you remember?" The youth remained quiet for a while before finally nodding. "How did I get hurt? And why can't I remember?"

Before Duncan had a chance to explain, a strange man entered the room, followed by the nurse

"I'm Doctor Benedict. I see our patient has decided to wake up. Would you please step outside for a few minutes while I examine him? It shouldn't take too long."

Duncan wasn't very happy about leaving Richie's side and, by the mutinous expression on Tessa's face, she wasn't either. Still the sooner they left, the sooner they could come back. "C'mon, Tessa. Richie, we'll be right outside if you need anything." He grabbed the Frenchwoman's hand and pulled her from the room.

****

Duncan was just about ready to storm back into the room when the door finally opened and the doctor and nurse emerged. "How is he?" the Immortal asked.

"He's doing just fine. His temperature is slightly elevated, but that's to be expected. I've ordered some pain medication for him." The doctor looked down at his notes. "Oh, and he says he's starving. I would have suggested the nurses order something from the kitchen, but that soup smells better than anything they would have." He grinned at the couple. 

"We can give him something to eat?" Tessa asked.

"Yes, but just the soup. Make sure that stays down first. If it does, we'll try him on solid food tomorrow and probably release him the day after. Do you have any other questions?"

"He doesn't remember what happened. Is that common? Should we tell him? Or let him try to remember on his own?" Duncan asked.

"Well, this isn't my field of expertise, but I believe it's very common for someone to blank out traumatic events. As for telling him, you have two choices. You can wait and talk to our staff psychologist in the morning and get his opinion on the matter. Or, you can use your best judgement. There isn't a medical cause for his amnesia, so I'm not qualified to help you. I have filled Richie in on his medical condition so he is aware that he's been shot. Anything else?"

Duncan and Tessa exchanged looks before saying no. The Immortal thanked the doctor and watched him walk away before turning to the Frenchwoman.

"What do you think, Tessa? Should we tell him?"

"I don't know. Personally, I'd find it more stressful *not* knowing what happened. I think we need to let Richie guide us. If he really wants to know, we can tell him."

They went back into the room to find Richie staring pensively at the ceiling. "Everything okay?" Duncan asked.

"Yeah," Richie replied, turning his face away from them. "How did I get shot? Did I do something... bad?"

Duncan reached out and turned the youth's face so he could look him directly in the eyes. "You didn't do anything bad, Richie. In fact, you did something pretty wonderful. We were grabbed by a group of men who had stolen some nerve gas. Thanks to you untying the ropes, we got away, but you got shot in the process."

Richie's face cleared. "Whew. That makes me feel better. I was afraid I'd done something stupid, like..." His face colored slightly.

"Like reverting back to a life of crime?" Duncan teased.

Richie blushed even deeper, nodding his head in agreement.

"Don't be silly, Richie," Tessa said. "You've turned your life around. Your days of crime are long behind you--at least they'd better be." She paused and threw a scowl at the youth. 

"Absolutely, Tessa!" Richie quickly stated. "No more crime."

Tessa grinned and ruffled his hair. "Good. Now, would you like some of this soup? It's not very warm anymore," she warned.

"Doesn't matter," Richie said with a grin. "I'd eat just about anything right now."

Duncan poured what was left of the soup into the cup that had topped the thermos. "Here you go, Richie," he said. He took the spoon he'd been using and wiped it with a napkin. "Not exactly the most sanitary, but I doubt you'll catch anything," he added as he handed it to the teenager.

Silence descended on the room as the three of them quickly devoured their dinner. Richie kept sending longing gazes at the breadsticks, but Duncan refused to give him any, remembering the doctor's words.

The Scot had just finished packing up the basket, when the nurse came back into the room. She handed Richie two pills and a glass of water. Then she turned to the other two occupants.

"I'm sorry, but visiting hours are over. I'll have to ask you to leave."

"I want to stay here with Richie," Tessa protested.

"I understand, but I can't let you do that. Now that he's out of danger, there's no reason for you to stay here. He needs to get some rest and, by the looks of it, so do you two. Besides, the pain pills he just took will probably knock him out. You can come back tomorrow morning."

"She's right, Tessa," Duncan said, even though he wanted to stay. "We'll be back in the morning, Richie. If you need anything before then, you can give us a call." Duncan clasped the youth's uninjured shoulder and squeezed lightly.

"Okay, Mac." Richie paused and yawned deeply. "I'll see you then."

Tessa leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Good night, Richie."

"'Night, Tessa. 'Night, Mac." Richie yawned again, before settling down in the bed.

Duncan turned the light out over the bed. One more time, he squeezed Richie's hand and, this time, felt the teenager respond by squeezing back. Turning, he placed an arm around Tessa's waist, and guided her out of the room.

*****

On the way home, Duncan and Tessa discussed whether she should go back to San Francisco.

"I can charter another plane," Duncan suggested. "You could be back in time for your class."

"No, Duncan. It's not that important. They'll have this seminar again. Besides, I'd just sit there and worry about how Richie was doing. I don't think that would be very productive."

"If you're sure... If I'd known that Richie would wake up on his own, I wouldn't have called you. I know how much you wanted to attend that seminar and you shouldn't have to give it up."

"Listen here, Duncan MacLeod," Tessa started angrily. "You would have been in a lot more trouble if you *hadn't* called me! You and Richie are the most important people in my world. If something happens to either of you, I want to know about it. No class or seminar in the whole world is more important to me than yours or Richie's welfare. Have I made myself perfectly clear?"

"Yes, Tessa. And you're right. I won't ever try to hide something like this from you again." Duncan paused for a moment. "Although I hope it never *does* happen again."

"I'll agree with you there," Tessa added whole-heartedly.

By the time they reached home, Duncan was struggling to remain awake. The brief nap he had caught earlier hadn't been much help. He almost fell into bed, staying awake long enough to pull Tessa close and kiss her gently before falling asleep.

The telephone woke him from a sound sleep, and he glanced at the clock, trying to figure out who would be calling at 2:14 in the morning. "Hello," he mumbled into the receiver. The voice he heard in reply caused him to bolt upright in bed.

"Hey, Mac. It's... It's Richie. I really hate to bother you at this time of the morning because you looked like you hadn't gotten much sleep lately. But you did tell me to call if I needed anything and... well, I guess I don't know if this qualifies as anything or not... Oh, man! Maybe I should have waited for morning. I'm sorry I bothered you. Go back to sleep."

"Richie, what's wrong?" Duncan asked as soon as the teenager had stopped for a breath.

"It can wait for morning. I'm sorry I called, Mac."

"Richie! Tell me what's wrong or I'll come to the hospital and you can tell me there," Duncan threatened.

Silence. 

"Did something else happen, Mac?" Richie finally asked, in a very small voice. "Besides my getting shot?"

"What do you mean, Richie?"

"I... I had a dream--well, a nightmare--and they were hurting me and you just stood there and let them do it. Tell me that isn't true, Mac. Please!" Richie sounded like he was on the verge of tears.

"It isn't true, Richie. At least not in *that* way. Listen, I'll come back to the hospital and we can talk this through. It would be too difficult to explain on the phone. I'll be there soon." Without another word, Duncan hung up the phone. He sprung from the bed and dashed over to the closet, pulling out jeans and a shirt.

"What's wrong, Duncan?" Tessa asked anxiously, as she sat up in bed, clutching the sheet to her chest.

"I have to go to the hospital to talk to Richie. Apparently, he had some nightmares that brought more back, but he's got it all confused. I'm not going to let this snowball into something we can't handle."

"Do you want me to come with you?" 

"Thanks for offering, Tessa, but I think this will be better handled man-to-man. Richie might even refuse to talk about it if you are there because this is about what happened between me and him. Try to go back to sleep."

****

At that hour of the morning the streets were virtually deserted and Duncan made good time getting to the hospital. His first major obstacle was the nurse on Richie's floor who told him it was after hours and he would have to leave.

"I'm not leaving until I see Richie," Duncan said, frowning fiercely.

"If necessary, I'll call security," the nurse threw back, obviously not intimidated at all.

"Fine. Go ahead and call them. But if I don't see my friend now, I'm going to start making a whole lot of noise and wake up all the rest of the patients on this floor," Duncan threatened. "I don't think they'll be too happy about that." 

The nurse looked appalled at the idea. "Very well, but just this once."

"Thank you," Duncan said, before striding down the hall to Richie's room. He quietly opened the door, not wanting to wake the teenager in case he'd managed to go back to sleep. Instead he found the youth staring up at the ceiling. The light mounted on the wall above the bed distinctly showed the red-rimmed eyes. "Hey, Richie." 

"Tell me what happened," Richie said, not returning the greeting. "And don't leave anything out. I want to know everything."

Duncan walked slowly across the room and sat down in the chair next to the bed. He reached out with one hand to touch Richie, only to have the young man flinch back. The Scot withdrew his hand, and started talking, telling Richie about how the truck had appeared on the deserted road.

Knowing how important this was, Duncan left out nothing. He talked about his fears for Richie's safety when they were first separated at the camp and, then later, when Murphy had threatened to shoot him. He told Richie how proud he had been when the teenager hadn't flinched at the sight of a gun pointing at him.

He went on to discuss their escaping, thanks to Richie's nimble fingers, and the long run through the woods--surprised at how well the teenager had managed to keep up. Duncan gave a slight shudder as he recounted how he'd spotted the bloodstain on the young man's shoulder, adding yet another complication to their escape.

Duncan watched Richie closely as he told him how much he hated to leave the teenager behind, but knew it was the only way he could get help. The expression on Richie's face never changed. Briefly, he talked about returning to the camp, stealing the nerve gas and hiding it. That part wasn't really important. He went on to tell about finding Randi waiting on the road, and how he'd sent her for help, grateful to be able to get back to Richie. Only he'd never made it, having spotted the men escorting the young man back to their camp.

Duncan couldn't bear to look at Richie anymore as he continued the tale and told about them being tied up. His voice shook as he told Richie about their conversation and how the teenager had made him promise to not reveal the location of the nerve gas. He went on to describe his feelings of helplessness as the men had tortured Richie. 

As he talked about how much horror he had felt when the young man had looked right through him at the hospital, Duncan felt something touch his hand. Pausing for a moment, he realized that somewhere along the line, he'd started to cry. He quickly brushed the tears away as he finished up the story of the long hours waiting for Richie to rejoin the real world.

"I guess that about covers it, Richie," Duncan said in closing.

The teenager remained silent for a long time, and the Scot refused to say anything more until Richie had time to think it all through.

Finally Richie spoke. "So, they only hurt me to try to get you to tell them where the nerve gas was?"

"Yes. I would have done almost anything to spare you that pain, Richie," Duncan explained. "But I couldn't let them have the nerve gas. We both know what would have happened if they hadn't been stopped."

Silence fell again. Duncan almost missed the next words which were spoken almost in a whisper.

"It hurt, Mac... It really hurt bad."

Acting on instinct--unsure if he would be rebuffed--Duncan quickly went to Richie's bed. He sat down on the side and carefully pulled the teenager into a hug. "I'm sorry, Richie. I am *so* sorry." He could feel Richie trembling in his arms. "I'm also *very* proud of you. I couldn't have done any better myself," he added, lightly massaging the teenager's back until the tremors stopped.

Finally, Richie pulled back and Duncan let him go. The Scot smiled at the teenager. "So, do you believe me?" he asked. "Do you understand I would never allow anyone to cause you pain if I could have stopped it?"

Richie nodded. "Once I got over the initial panic of the nightmare, I had some time to think it all through before you got here. Parts of it are still fuzzy, but I know you told me the truth."

"That's good," Duncan replied. "Now, why don't you lie down and try to get some sleep? Otherwise, we'll have to do some fast talking to keep the doctors from keeping you here longer than necessary."

"Hey, leave the fast talking to me," Richie replied, a tentative grin filling his face. "That's my specialty. Why, I'll have them so convinced, they'll send me home early."

"Right. Out of self-defense, probably," Duncan teased back, reaching out to ruffle Richie's hair.

"Hey!"

"And maybe in a few days, when you're feeling better, we can go up to the island for a while. How would you like that?" 

"I don't know, Mac..."

"C'mon, Richie. All we're going to do is go to the island, hang around a few days and then come home. What could go wrong?"

"Oh, man!"

The end.


End file.
